Coming Back to it All
by Disdain.in.the.membrane
Summary: "The same schedule every single day, and I don't question it. I just live it." A day in the life for Clyde Donovan.


**Coming Back to it All**

The sun streams in through the blinds effortlessly finding its way across my eyes. I know not to open my eyes just yet. There is a mix of warmth that omits off of my bed, and the cold air from the room that touches my exposed foot. I pull it back under the covers only to have the alarm go off. I groan, displeased with the noise that signals the start of a busy day. Reaching to the left where my nightstand sits, I pound down on the snooze button. I sit up to stretch before stepping out from my warm sheets and into the almost icy cold room.

Slowly, I make my way to the bathroom next to my room. The scent of strawberry shampoo still lingers in the air meaning my sister has already left for school. That would explain the lack of heat in the house; she must have turned it off before she left. I relieve myself and move to the sink. Ignoring how cold the water is I splash it onto my face, wondering how those people in acne commercials get the water to do that thing it does. Magically clearing their face away from any facial wash. Thinking about it now makes me laugh to myself, my rough morning voice rubbing against the empty bathroom walls. I laugh even louder to hear my voice, and finally open my eyes to look into the mirror.

My brown hair, currently in the disheveled bed-head state, is inching itself close to my eyes. I need a haircut. My chubby face is free of any acne, which I am forever thankful for (although I can't speak much for my back). I can also go another day without shaving as the stubble running along my jawline is barely visible. Taking a moment, I bite my lip as I go over my features. Delicate, almost feminine, but my dad tells me that he didn't fully mature until he was in his twenties. Even my body has an almost feminine quality to it with the way I gain muscle I am still getting into my looks. I guess I am at an awkward stage in life. I'm a late bloomer.

Smiling to myself in the mirror I tell my reflection, "Good morning." I turn from left to right, with a wide, cheeky grin that slowly fades when I look straight ahead. I bite my lip as I reach for the toothpaste and my toothbrush and methodically finish up my bathroom routine. Once done, I go back to my bedroom. Removing my sleep shirt I reach down to the pile of both washed and unwashed shirts, and somehow come up with a "The Apples in Stereo" shirt. I have only ever listened to one of their songs, but Craig is really into them and I somehow ended up with one of his shirts. I throw it on and look around the messy floor for some pants. The jeans I've worn for the past four days are perched up on my swivel chair. I reach for them and pull them on. Now where are my socks? In the dresser because I make sure to have clean socks. It's the whole idea of having clean feet. Nobody wants to be around feet in the first place, unless they have a fetish, so making them somewhat decent makes the entire experience pleasurable. So, my clean socks are stacked away in the dresser. I reach under my bed and pull out my faded red sneakers. I need some new shoes pretty soon since these are tearing away.

I go over my mental checklist before getting my bag to start off my day. Walking down the stairs, there's the faint smell of breakfast. My dad probably just left. In the kitchen he left me coffee and some toast. I toss my bag down and take a seat. The remote is just off to the side of the table, so I turn on the TV to the news for background noise. I'm still not all the way awake to fully pay attention right now.

Looking down at my breakfast, I smile to myself for no reason in particular. Maybe it's the fact that my dad took time out of his morning to think of me. That was nice of him. My sister probably was able to eat with him, but I spent the time sleeping. I reach for the coffee first, taking a sip out of the lukewarm drink. And then I bite into the now cold piece of toast.

Once I'm done with breakfast I turn off the TV, grab my bag, and head out. Not long after standing outside of my house does Token drive up. I run into his car, shivering.

"It's like negative fifty today, dude," I say, my hands hovering over the heater.

He reaches to the back and tosses me my letterman jacket, "You wouldn't be cold if you remembered your stuff."

I grin, pulling my arms into the sleeves. We are silent the car ride to Craig's, with only the sound of electronic beats from the stereo. I push my head against the cold window and pull away to see the imprint my forehead left. I breathe onto the window causing it to fog, and for enough time to draw a smiley face on it.

When we drive up to Craig's house he is waiting outside with Tweek. Tweek looks to the ground and walks into the car, greeting both Token and I. Craig walks over to my side and bends down to my window. Before I can open it he fogs it with his breath and draws a sad face then climbs into the back seat.

"Jeez, Craig, what's up your ass today?" I ask him, but in return get a grunt.

Tweek leans in between Token and my seat and in an attempt to whisper tells us, "I spilled coffee on his jeans and he threw a piss-fit like the jerk wad he is."

We nod, acknowledging the reasoning for our friend's mood. Knowing it will pass over soon I go off and make conversation with Token and Tweek about nothing in particular. And by the time we get to school Craig joined in on the conversation. I step out of the car and stretch, feeling the warmest I have since I woke up. We have a good five minutes before class starts, so we spend it meeting up with some other friends and talking. When the bell rings I go to homeroom, starting off the morning tardy just as usual.

The room is full of chatter and commotion. I take a seat next to Cartman and Kyle sitting in the back. They try bringing me into one of their debates, but I just blow them off opting to try and add a few more minutes to my sleep schedule. It seems all too sudden when the bell rings signaling the start of the actual learning school day. Well, as much learning one can get in public school.

I follow the same path every day, waving to the same faces, going to the same classes. Lunch time is spent with the friends closest to me, laughing and having the best time. Then it's back to class until three. At three I have ten minutes to change and be out on the field for practice. Baseball practice runs until five each day. And then I have to go straight home before my sister gets back from volleyball practice.

The same schedule every single day, and I don't question it. I just live it.

After practice Stan gives me a ride home. We usually spend the time listening to music, too tired to come up with conversation.

Once I say bye to him I walk up to my front door and take a moment before opening it. Inside it's still dark and quiet just as I left it. I throw my bag onto the floor causing a loud thump that seems to effortlessly echo against the tiled floor. Walking into the kitchen, I notice a sticky note left on the table.

'Out with friends, back by 8.'

It's from my sister, meaning she beat me home today. And she must've been home long enough to realize how quiet the house can be. The seemingly lifeless house that no one wants to be a part of anymore. A family of three, happiness left years ago. Now we are left with a father that is working himself to death, a son finding all the friends he can manage on top of a list of extracurricular activities, and a daughter who is too young to remember, but old enough to know the heartbreaking feeling of loneliness. Yet, on a daily basis, I push down the emptiness to wake up and come back to it all.

* * *

Thank you for reading.

I love crybaby Donovan. He reminds me my friend that is really sensitive and has so many burdens, but still manages to smile despite how alone he is. And that's what I wanted to show. He finds the good in everyone, and has pep talks with himself in the mirror. And I actually kind of maybe tried on this one. It was so hard to work with!


End file.
